


Out of the Trenches

by pigeonanarchy



Series: i believe in kindness [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, jonny sims: no one can escape the domains, me: shut up shut up shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonanarchy/pseuds/pigeonanarchy
Summary: This enemy looked no less monstrous than any other, but up against the shell of the ruined tank it looks more like a lost child curled up against its dead parent. A horrifying, murderous Bambi, perhaps.Mason coughs, the closest to a laugh he could remember being, and the enemy’s head whips towards him.For a second they both freeze, staring at each other, and then Mason fumbles for his gun as the enemy shifts as if to try and get up.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood (background)
Series: i believe in kindness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770628
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	Out of the Trenches

Mason cowers against the mound of earth from the crater of a prior explosion, as if mere dirt would protect him from the horrors around him. The tanks charge across the ground, heedless of those who might get caught up in their tracks. The sky is full of fire and projectiles, the air is thick with gas and smoke, and the ground is covered with blood and bodies. Through the screams and shouts and blasts of the war, Mason hears a thud as the body of one of the enemy falls into his crater.

It was barely recognizable as something that had ever been alive in the first place, limbs torn and skin shredded. Once it had slid to a stop, Mason could barely even differentiate it from the other pieces of corpses around it - humans from his side and monsters from its. He would be joining that mess soon, probably. It was really his only option. What was there for him to do, other than that?

The war would never end. The enemy would never be defeated. The soldiers would never be sent home. The war was full of false promises, and there was no escape for anyone. But, he didn’t _want_ to die. He _wanted_ to see his boyfriend again, he wanted to see his _sister_ again, he wanted his parents and his friends and the life he knew he’d had at _some_ point, even if it felt now like the war was all there ever was and ever would be.

Even were he to manage some escape, through the guns ready for any attempted desertions and back to his people and his life, though, even if he could manage the impossible and _leave,_ what if he was _wrong?_ What if the war _did_ end and the enemy _won_ and it turned out he _could_ have contributed? That his presence _had_ mattered?

What if he condemned everyone he knew to the brutal tearing claws of the enemy?

More likely, however, was that the war would _never_ end, and his presence _didn’t_ matter, and he would _never_ be able to see his loved ones again _anyways_ because escape was impossible. He was wasting his time, thinking about things that couldn’t happen.

Another explosion goes off by his head, and he decides that maybe thinking of things that couldn’t happen would be at least preferable to thinking about things that could.

-

He has been hiding for a while when he sees two people run by, hand in hand. They aren’t wearing any sort of uniform, and he couldn’t see any sort of weapons on either one. Mason watches them with a sort of morbid fascination as they cut sideways across the battlefield, through a rain of bullets and explosions, and don't fall. He expects to see one trip, at some point, either from an injury or exhaustion. Maybe the other would keep running, to fall on their own several steps after, or maybe they would wait, unable to carry on.

None of that happens. They continue on, still with each other, hand in hand, until the smoke blocks them from Mason’s sight. He holds no illusions that they could escape, but. At this point? Mason would give a lot to hold someone’s hand, especially someone important to him. Maybe they have the right idea.

He decides to try and rest, for even a couple of seconds, and tucks himself a bit more into the dirt - the closest he can get to a comfortable position.

-

In the end, Mason hadn’t gotten much rest before the battle had shifted and he’d had to gingerly load more bullets into his gun and join the fighting, lest he be killed as a deserter, but he’d managed a moment of peace, and he treasures that as the fighting rages.

It is, surprisingly, the first thing he thinks of when he sees an enemy curled up against the husk of a tank, now tipped on its side, looking like the shed shell of some dreadful monster. He can’t tell what side the tank had belonged to, but it’s easy enough at a glance to tell that the form he sees there is one of the enemies he fought.

This enemy looked no less monstrous than any other, but up against the shell of the ruined tank it looks more like a lost child curled up against its dead parent. A horrifying, murderous Bambi, perhaps.

Mason coughs, the closest to a laugh he could remember being, and the enemy’s head whips towards him.

For a second they both freeze, staring at each other, and then Mason fumbles for his gun as the enemy shifts as if to try and get up.

By the time he’s managed to get his gun into a position to fire, though, it’s apparent to Mason that there is nothing that this enemy could do to him. He should smile, bloody and victorious in his power over this fallen monster that threatens all he loves. He should pull the trigger to his gun or leave it to a painful, slow death as he goes on to cleanse the battlefield of its fellows.

It whines in fear, its only defense to curl tighter in on itself.

Mason lowers his gun.

-

Hope is crying. They’re going to die, here, curled into the torn-up shell of the tank that had crushed their legs. An enemy stands over them, gun drawn, face curled into a horrifying snarl. There’s nothing they can do - they can barely even move. They’re out of bullets, they lost their gun a while ago, their knife is broken, and they have no way to escape.

They can barely make out an expression through the gruesome distortion of its face, but they’re confident it’s grinning down at them, relishing their pain and fear and helplessness. Its gun lowers. So, it’s going to drag this out? Really dig into the power it has over them? Hope wants to deny that, to spite it in their death the way they can’t in their life, but they can’t stop crying. They will die, shaking and sobbing, alone but for their soon-to-be killer, as useless as they’ve always thought they were.

-

Mason watches the enemy soldier. He’s never really considered the ages of the enemy, but now that he’s paused, his earlier comparison to a child is seeming more and more accurate. Why- well, now that he thought about it, _of course_ such a terrible enemy would send their own children to fight. What else would they be doing, taking care of their children peacefully at home? After all this fighting, he knows better.

Is he going to kill a child? A child which, as horrible as it is, is still a child, injured and afraid and alone on the battlefield.

A child which has likely killed Mason’s people before, and, if left alive, will likely go on to kill more.

This child is one of the monstrous ‘other’, the enemy who wants Mason’s friends and family to die just to revel in their pain. He’s been trapped on these killing fields for so long he can’t actually remember how long he’s been here, and there’s only fighting, pain, and suffering. If he kills the child, then it will be the one in pain, and he’ll live a little longer. If he doesn’t, it will kill him. That’s the way it goes.

He thinks of two people running past, hand in hand, neither falling. He thinks of the short respite he found curled in a crater, the minutes where the fighting didn’t quite reach him.

He thinks of the child in front of him, helpless and crying, sent to fight and die. Does he really believe that any being can be, by nature, unchangeably evil? That this child needs to die, for the crime of being here? He’s killed - monsters, sure, but he’s killed them - and it wasn’t in joy or pleasure, but to defend the people he cares about.

Can he really say for sure that this kid is different? Can he really know that this kid _doesn’t_ fear him killing its loved ones like he fears it?

The sounds of the battle are muffled. The air hangs still. He feels eyes on the back of his neck, as if the entire sky is watching him. It feels almost as if the world has paused to see what choice he makes. Just a moment ago, he had felt as though nothing could ever change, but here, he feels like this decision might be the most important choice he’s ever made.

He bends down and shifts the shell of the tank so he can shift the kid’s legs out from under it, and then carries them into it, so that the armor of the tank can better protect them.

Up close, bandaging their wounds and fearing that once they’re treated, they might kill him, he notices that they look more human than he’d thought, in the fighting, where all he had were enemies and their corpses.

-

Hope wakes up from a fog of pain, feeling clearer than they have in a while. The fighting is still raging, like it feels it always has and always will, but muffled. Their legs _hurt,_ but they aren’t dead. There’s… bloody fabric, around their legs. Are they- _is this-_ they’ve heard stories about the sorts of treatment people get, when they’re taken off the field for injuries.

They see a shape moving in the shadows - is that the doctor, come to fetch them?

Their eyes adjust, and they see that it’s worse. It’s one of the enemy. They’re in the tank that crushed them, they realize. All the way inside the shell. They’d fainted when the other soldier had picked them up, from pain and stress and fear and revulsion at the touch.

They’re awake, now.

They’d make a joke about the only hope they have being their name, but that joke had worn out so long ago they could barely remember even thinking it was morbidly funny.

Why aren’t they dead?

What are they being kept alive for?

Does it just want to watch them suffer more? Is this some sort of sick game?

Hope tries desperately to feign sleep, but they can’t keep their breath from picking up. They want to go _home,_ to their siblings and their dads. Their dads always _promised_ to protect them but there’s no protection here, no safety, no peaceful and happy days. They all used to joke about how much they’d fight over Monopoly, but Hope would give just about anything for _that_ to be their metric for ‘fighting’ now.

The monster looks towards them, alerted by either their breathing or the tears tracing paths in the grime on their cheeks, and they can do nothing but wait.

The next thing they know, the monster is pushing them onto the ground. Their legs are twisted by the motion into pure agony, so sharp that they black out again. At least they won’t be conscious for their death.

-

Hope wakes up again.

The monster is lying on top of them.

A new hole is torn in the side of the tank they had been put in.

There is… a lot of blood.

Hope struggles out from under the monster of top of them, wincing at the pain in their legs.

They don’t understand what they can put together, because it looks like the enemy meant to shield them from the explosion. They wouldn’t have heard the shell coming - their hearing still hasn’t recovered from the explosion that ended the tank in the first place, stopping it from crushing any more of their body than their legs, and the higher pitches of things flying through the air are completely inaudible to them.

Surely, if it had leapt at them to hurt them, it wouldn’t have left all its weapons in a small pile on the other side of the tank.

Surely, if it had been reacting to hearing the shell, it would have taken some position more likely to protect it, instead of leaving its entire back exposed to shrapnel like it did.

If it had meant to heal them enough to keep them suffering for longer, would it have made sense for it to bandage their legs so cleanly, to set their mangled bones and brace their legs with bits of metal to keep them from breaking? What reason would it have to be so careful?

It seems to Hope that there’s only so many ways this can go. Either the monster wants to hurt them, or it wants to help. Hope can either leave it to die, or they can help. If the monster wants to hurt them, and they help, it will hurt them. It’s bigger and stronger, and they still can’t walk. If it wants to hurt them, and they leave it to die, they’ll be safe from that threat. But, they still can’t walk, they’re missing blood, and they can’t hear higher pitches. They probably won’t live long on their own. If it wants to help, and they leave it to die, same result. But if it wants to help, and they help it, the two of them might still die, but it might be able to help them survive things they couldn’t survive alone.

They’ll probably die, painfully and soon, no matter what they do. Is there any point to helping? It won’t fix anything. Best case scenario, they might die a bit less soon.

Then again, if nothing they do matters, why _not_ help? What do they lose by trying? Honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? The worst is here, now, already.

They feel like someone’s watching them, but the other soldier is still unconscious. When Hope crawls over to bandage his wounds, they realize he actually looks relatively human up close. They don’t know a lot about first aid - not as much as he does, judging by their legs - but they know enough to get his back in slightly better condition. He might survive, maybe. They do their best, anyways, and that’s all they can do.

-

Mason does wake up, to bandages made out of his shredded clothes - the explosion did most of the work, why waste it - and a child that he clearly recognizes as the enemy he had helped, but they are so clearly as human as he is he can barely understand how he thought them monstrous. He can feel the warping at the back of his mind, though, trying to distort features and call on his biases to help make a case for murder. It would be so easy to go back to thinking they’re a monster, so much less painful than thinking about all the other people he’s killed, but he refuses to.

The two talk, in the ruin of the tank, with people screaming and dying all around them. Hope can’t hear the screams so well - their hearing isn’t recovering - and Mason’s glad for it. They deserve the small reduction in the nightmare around them.

Heading towards either side will get them killed as enemies or traitors, but Mason remembers the two he saw running straight along the battle, towards neither side, and remembers how little they had fit in. Maybe they'd come from somewhere other than this war? They were the only thing he'd seen since arriving at the trenches that _wasn't_ from the war. It's something, at least.

Oh, the two of them would probably die no matter what they did, they both agree on that. But if staying is guaranteed to kill them, and heading behind the lines on either side is guaranteed to kill them, the only thing left to try is to find the end of the battlefield. The armies probably don’t stretch into infinity, after all. A small chance was better than nothing.

So, Mason guides Hope through fixing up the bandages on his back to be more effective, and he fixes the braces he’d made for their legs that had been broken in the explosion. Hope and Mason go through their combined belongings to see what they had that could be useful. Mason gives Hope his gun, so he can have his arms free, and then he checks around outside for any immediate threats, picks them up, and sets off.


End file.
